The Taming of a Wild Child (5 page)

And Jack Morgan, who’d never so much as given her the time of day in high school—or since, for that matter—had
spent the last forty-five minutes flirting with her. In front of his mother, no less.

Tonight could be chalked up as a success all the way around. She’d done it. She’d pat herself on the back if she could, but that headache named Donovan had only gotten worse. A couple of people had mentioned the comment in the paper to her, but she’d laughed it off—and the people who’d mentioned it were exactly the kind who’d spread anything remotely gossiplike, so hopefully her response would shut down any other speculation.

The cause of her headache had ignored her all evening. That fact hadn’t really bothered her—much—until she’d seen Jessica Reynald resting her impressive bosom on Donovan’s arm and making cow’s eyes at him. And Donovan hadn’t exactly been fighting her off. The man was nothing more than a hound dog. And if last Saturday night hadn’t felt cheap and tawdry enough, that just pushed it right over the edge into sordid.

It’s none of my business who he sleeps with. I’m just another notch in his bedpost
. It was downright embarrassing.

“Leaving already?”

She spun so fast at the sound of the last voice on earth she wanted to hear right then that her heel caught in a sidewalk crack, causing her to wobble dangerously. Quickly righting herself, she snapped, “Are you
following
me now?”

Donovan stepped back. “Whoa, you’ve got one hell of an ego there, Princess.”

There was something so snide in the way he called her Princess that it put her teeth on edge. “Why
are
you here?”

A look of complete confused innocence crossed his face. “Because I’m leaving and this is the way out.”

The reasonableness of the statement left her feeling a
bit silly. That feeling caused her to snark, “Alone? What happened to Jessica?”

“I could ask you what happened to Jack.”

“That’s absolutely none of your business.”

An eyebrow went up. “But Jess is yours?”

Damn it
. She squared he shoulders and looked around, determined to limit their conversation since ignoring him was going to be difficult. “Why are there no taxis?”

“To annoy you, I’m sure.”

The doorman returned, thankfully forestalling the comeback she desperately wanted to make but shouldn’t. “Dispatch says it’s going to be about twenty minutes. Lot of things letting out right now.”

She tried to keep the frustration out of her voice. This wasn’t his fault. “Thank you.”

“Why don’t you ask Jack to give you a ride home?”

There was an edge to Donovan’s voice that she didn’t like. “You know, I’m actually thinking a short walk might be nice.”

“Do you have a death wish?”

“How patronising of you. I’m an adult, and more than capable of taking care of myself. It’s not even ten o’clock, and it’s a populated area. I’ll be perfectly safe.”

“I meant your shoes. You’ll kill yourself in those things.”

“They’re quite comfortable.” That wasn’t exactly a lie. They
were
quite comfortable—provided she was indoors and able to sit occasionally. An eight-block hike down Esplanade was a different situation entirely. That was why she’d asked for a cab in the first place. “I’ll be fine. Good night, Donovan.”

Proud of herself, she began the trek home. This would be good for her, she told herself. It would give her a chance to clear her mind, enjoy the sights. This part of Esplanade
was heavily residential—folks out with their dogs, tourists exploring … It would be nice. And good exercise.

Within seconds, though, she began to rethink the idea: the temperature had dropped to a reasonable degree, but the humidity was still high and her skin felt damp already. She’d barely gone a block before her heel caught in another crack and nearly sent her sprawling.

She groaned as she righted herself. Pride and stubbornness would be her downfall one day.

Donovan’s laugh floated down the street to her ears. “That was graceful.”

Don’t take the bait
, her brain warned, but she was already turning around. “And you’re obnoxious and immature.” She held on to a streetlight and wiggled her ankle experimentally.

Note to self: Buy some of those little foldable flats and keep them in your purse
.

Better note to self: Next time ignore him and wait for a cab
.

Even better note to self: Don’t let there be a next time. Avoid him at all costs
.

She looked up from her mental lecture to see Donovan closing in. “Are you all right?”

So much for ‘no next time.’ Or maybe she could consider this the same time as earlier. “I’m fine.”

“I was just being polite, Princess—making sure you hadn’t hurt yourself.”

“That’s very kind of you. However …”
time to be brutally honest
“… in case you haven’t noticed, I’m trying very hard to ignore you.”

“I thought we were pretending it never happened?”

“We are.”

“Then why the need to ignore me?”

God, why was he being so difficult?
“Because it would
be much easier for me to actually do the pretending if you weren’t around.”

“You’re overreacting. We’re adults. It was consensual—if not intentional. It’s not half as big a deal as you’re making it out to be.”

A man walking his dog slowed his steps as he passed, the look on his face a mixture of concern and interest. Lorelei bit back the words on the tip of her tongue. Reaching for Donovan’s arm, she dragged him a few feet away from the street into the shadows. “Believe it or not, I’m not in the habit of sleeping with random men. I find this situation to be awkward and quite disturbing.”

“Which part?”

That was not at all the response she’d expected, and when coupled with the fact that his voice lacked any mockery at all … She looked up and froze. Donovan was mostly in shadow, but his stance was relaxed, hands in his pockets. What she could see of his face looked genuine, with no trace of the usual smirk.

It took another second for her to register that she’d pulled him into a secluded spot—one that might be considered romantic due to the lush greenery that draped over the courtyard wall, creating a mini-bower. Donovan’s white shirt stood out in the partial gloom, and he’d opened the top few buttons against the heat. He was so tall and broad-chested that even in her stilettos she was at eye-level with the hollow of his throat. The humidity had created a fine sheen of moisture across his skin, releasing the scent of his aftershave to mix with the fragrance of the hibiscus. The sounds of the Quarter were muffled, and the houses around them quiet. It felt … intimate—sultry, even—and it threw her off her game.

She swallowed hard, completely forgetting what she’d
planned to say—or even what he’d asked. “I’m sorry—what?”

“The situation is awkward and disturbing. I asked which part.”

Was it her imagination, or was Donovan’s voice lower and huskier than normal? The embers that had smoldered in her belly for nearly a week flared to life, the sounds and the scents around her kindling a feeling that her body remembered even if her mind didn’t.

And she wanted to know.

Don’t make this even worse
.

But her legs felt wobbly and weak, and her hand was already reaching for him. She was setting herself up for disaster, but the draw was almost too painful to fight. Her hand landed on his chest, and she could feel the rapid beat of his heart under her palm and the jump of the muscle under the skin. Donovan wasn’t immune to her, and that knowledge gave her the courage to meet his eyes. What she saw there nearly took her breath away, and the heat that flooded her had nothing to do with the weather.

“Lorelei …”

It was now or never. If she walked away now she’d regret it. But this was a huge risk; if Donovan turned her down, her humiliation would be everlasting.

Rising up on her toes until only inches separated them, she dug deep and let the ache inside her force the words out. “I want to know.”

She felt the shock ripple through his body as she closed the space and let her lips meet his.

There was a pause, then everything exploded.

The sensations hit her with the force of a hurricane, cancelling out her higher brain functions. The feel and taste of Donovan was both new and familiar at the same
time, giving reality to what had only been a vague craving before.

His mouth was hot and demanding, each stroke of his tongue licking her like fire and sending the sensation searing through her entire body. The solid bulk of his chest pressed against hers, anchoring her to the brick wall at her back and trapping her in a cage of warm male flesh.

It was divine.

She felt a tug on her hair and let her head fall back, allowing Donovan to press hot kisses down her neck to the sensitive skin at her collarbone. She arched against him, getting contact from breast to knee, and his hands wrapped around her waist to hold her there.

This
was what she’d been trying to remember.
This
was what her body knew, what her skin had been trying to tell her about. Memories of the sensations butted at her brain, allowing her to savor the anticipation of the next touch, the next taste, while somehow knowing how good it would be at the same time.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, dragging his mouth back to hers. She melted under the onslaught.

“Lorelei …”

The sound of her name, whispered huskily next to her ear, sent goose bumps over her skin, but she heard the reluctant
this isn’t a good idea
echoing underneath.

“I know.” She could force herself
not
to think about all the reasons why this was a really bad idea, but they were still on a public street, only a block from the restaurant, and the shadows and the hibiscus blooms were far from the adequate privacy needed. She pressed a kiss against his neck, tasted the salt and felt the thrumming of his pulse under her lips. “I just don’t—” The words were stopped as she gave in to the urge for another taste. She tightened her fingers around the collar of his jacket, unwilling
to let this moment, this feeling go. “My house is seven blocks from here.”

She felt Donovan smile against her temple as his hands splayed across the small of her back to pull her even closer. “Mine’s four.”

Her decision had been made the moment she touched him, but when he didn’t move, she realized Donovan must be waiting for a response. “Sounds good.”

The feel of Lorelei pressed against him was mind-scrambling, and the orders from his brain to his feet seemed to be getting lost.

Rationally, he knew this shouldn’t be happening, but somehow it felt inevitable, as well. He hadn’t followed her with this intent, but now he didn’t know why he hadn’t.

The four blocks to his house seemed ridiculously far when his body was screaming for him to take her right here, right now.

Move
.

He reached for her hand and twined his fingers through hers. He realized Lorelei’s hand was shaking. She wore a dazed look, her lips swollen and moist, and her breath was uneven and shallow. The woman was lust incarnate, and pure want cut deep into his belly.

Lorelei trailed slightly behind as he led her quickly across Esplanade and down Dauphine into the Quarter. When he felt resistance in her arm, he glanced over his shoulder to see Lorelei’s gaze firmly on her feet and wondered if she was having second thoughts. Belatedly he realized it was those impossibly sexy shoes. The ancient and uneven sidewalks of the Quarter were treacherous, and he was practically dragging her like a caveman back to his den.

He shortened his stride and slowed his steps. Lorelei squeezed his hand in thanks without looking up.

Dauphine Street was primarily residential, and the few people out on the street didn’t give them a second glance—even though Donovan felt like his erection was leading the way and their intent was obvious.

One block up St. Phillip to Burgundy and the redbrick of his house appeared like a lighthouse. The knowledge they were that close sent blood rushing to his groin so fast he had difficulty finding his keys and remembering how to make them work.

A rush of air-conditioning cooled the sweat on his skin as he pulled Lorelei inside and slammed the door behind her. The light from the hall showed a faint glistening of sweat around Lorelei’s hairline and a pink flush to her cheeks that could either be from exertion or arousal.

Arousal
, he decided, as Lorelei threw herself into his arms again with a force that nearly knocked him off his feet. Her arms twined around his neck, pulling his mouth to hers. In response he picked her up and headed for the stairs.

Lorelei’s fingers worked on the buttons of his shirt and a hand slipped inside. The tease of her fingers over his nipple nearly caused him to miss a step. He sucked in his breath, trying to focus on remembering where his bedroom was.

Finally
. It took every ounce of control he had not to fling her onto the bed and bury himself in her. Instead he set her carefully on her feet. She’d kicked off her shoes somewhere along the way, and now the top of Lorelei’s head was even with his chest. She opened his shirt farther and placed a kiss on the bare skin.

He’d thought the burning, clawing need he remembered had been a byproduct of too much tequila and a
trick of his mind, but as it swept through him in a fierce wave, he realized the memory was dull in comparison with the reality. Lorelei was as hypnotic and drugging as her namesake—and probably just as dangerous.

Her hands were busy, untucking his shirt and pushing it and his jacket off. Then, with an appreciative sigh, she ran her fingers from his collarbones to his belt buckle. She looked up and gave him a small smile, before turning around and lifting her hair over her shoulder to expose the zipper down the back of her dress. A second later the purple silk was in a puddle at her feet, and she was facing him wearing only a scrap of black lace.

Dear God, she was even more beautiful than he remembered. He hadn’t realized he’d voiced the thought until Lorelei placed a hand on his chest and said, “I’m glad there’s still some element of surprise for you.”